Broken Clocks
by Sacrificial Necrosis
Summary: In all the worldlines he meets Shiro, Mephisto watches him die and Assiah fall under Satan. Mephisto jumps from one worldline to the next and 'redoes' his years with Shiro in order to find a variation that could disrupt this fixed pattern of death and destruction. But is there really anything he can do to change the fates of Shiro, the twins, and Assiah? (no pairings)
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Ao no Exorcist._

* * *

"Black takes bishop," Mephisto thought long before Shiro could place a finger on the black rook. He gave up counting the number of times he had seen the same move, the same gameplay, and—eventually—the same conclusion once he reached the twentieth repetition. Indeed, Shiro commanded his hand as Mephisto predicted—no, known from his other lives, if he chose to call them such. He stared at the board with eyes that saw nothing before them, his hand moving towards his queen like one of Pavlov's dogs—salivating upon hearing the bell and conditioned to do the same thing given the same stimulus over and over again as if it was created for this sole purpose.

"Mephisto—"

"Check."

He recognized the desperation in the priest's voice, but the demon refused to meet Shiro's eyes, not wanting to confirm what he already knew.

"Mephisto, please...!"

Shiro's voice wavered, but Mephisto continued to stare through the chess pieces as if they were transparent, words kept in his mind. Going through the same scene more times than he would bother remembering drained his counter-arguments—and will—faster than a demon sucking the soul out of its victim.

"MEPHISTO!"

He heard the chair hit the floor even though the world they were in was nothing but a void, and in this void objects fell soundlessly on emptiness. His eyes stayed unfazed despite seeing the checked board falter and the chess pieces collapse into disarray upon meeting Shiro's fists.

_Stop._ Mephisto wanted to plead, but the word remained a mere thought.

"Please..."

The demon king shut his eyes as a teardrop not his landed on the black knight lying on its side, the horse's crystal eyes accusing him like a ghost haunting its murderer. Without him looking, he knew it did not end with a single drop.

"Samael..."

_Stop it, Shiro._

For once he wished ignorance to something—to the words that would follow and to the implications they had in tow—but he had heard the same request in far too many worldlines that he began to think it was pointless to object.

"Please save my children..."

He held back a sigh of resignation as what he dreaded spilled from the priest's mouth.

_I'm sorry. If only I…_

* * *

**A/N: **

The next parts are longer. Unlike most fanfics involving Shiro and Mephisto, I'd like to imagine their friendship more than to speculate on anything romantic, so no ShiroxMephi (unless you squint really hard).

**Just a bit of warning before you proceed:** Mephisto might be a bit OOC in the first few parts.

(1) He's difficult to write to begin with (I apologize in advance should I get sloppy); part of his charm as a character in the original series is that you can't tell what's going on in his mind, so revealing some of that presents the risk of missing the mark or losing some of that charm.

(2) He's still confused by recent events haha.

(3) Nature vs nurture; his experiences will also shape who he becomes.

(4) The plot calls for him to be a bit _different_ from what we know, at least until we get past "that point."


	2. Part 1: Erase It

With each footstep swift and steady, cape billowing out behind him, Samael crossed the long hallway that led to a room he disliked for its 'boring blueness.' Servants bowed to him as he passed, their muscles as rigid as a dead body's and their eyes fixed on the ground as if it was the most interesting thing in Gehenna. If only they looked up, they would have seen the absence of the smirk that usually decorated the higher demon's face. He paid them no mind, however, for what they—or anybody—thought of him was the least of his concerns unless, of course, it had any bearing on his plans. He knew of how they branded him as the family's blackest sheep, in stark contrast to the brilliance his oldest brother exuded as Satan's most dedicated son. Indeed, he took after his Father's rebellious nature, and the Gehennian god could only shake his head in annoyance after years of trying to 'discipline' him showed no results.

And so it was that he went to Assiah to play games larger than the ones he orchestrated in Gehenna. Satan was not exactly happy to let him go, but was pleased enough at the thought of ridding himself one of the many that gave him headaches (for despite his indisputable position as god of all demons, there were still those factions that fought among themselves without rest). For decades, there was no word from Satan, and with this freedom, the demon king made Assiah his playground and its inhabitants his toys.

He took great care in dealing with humans, not wanting to involve himself too deeply so as not to 'taint' the outcome of their struggles. He remembered that one time, though, when a human succeeded to summon him to Assiah (not without a price too costly for anybody but one desperate enough to turn to the devil) and in exchange for his measly soul asked the demon king for all the world's knowledge and power. Had he not been without entertainment for weeks the demon would have refused and killed the man on the spot, but the man whose wish echoed what he himself desired offered him a way out of his life's monotony. With a carefully worded contract favoring the demon, the two agreed to a 'partnership,' and the tragic tale of Faust was born. Although it might have been only misfortune for his human partner in the end, Samael knew it was only the beginning of a more exciting century for him.

But he might have been enjoying his games too much that he soon found himself near the edge of what his Father would permit. Satan would send one of his brothers to check on him and on every occasion he met with the envoy Samael reaffirmed his allegiance while secretly aiding his human pawns against Lucifer's Illuminati.

But it seems that Satan's patience has run out.

He stopped in front of the double doors at the end of the hallway, feeling a turbulence whirling on the other side that drained what little color his pale face had. Before he could announce himself, the doors opened with a creaking sound that stung his ears.

"How I've _missed_ you, my son," Satan greeted in a voice of mock glee.

Samael surveyed the room.

The reliefs on the wall that chronicled Gehenna's beginnings. The chandeliers holding blue flames that danced without need of music. The throne that acknowledged only the strongest of all as its owner at the far end of the room. The master of Gehenna's blue flames.

The stage was set. All characters were gathered. Samael had already rehearsed this scene in his mind.

"And so have I, Father. But for what reason have you summoned me today?" He already knew.

"You seem to be enjoying Assiah," Satan said with eyes absently examining his fingernails.

"Indeed. I have had a good look at Assiah during my years of absence, and can attest that it is much more interesting than they claim it to be." Samael's eyes scanned the room for possible escape routes in case the situation turned worse than it already is. "You should join us on the other side, soon, Father. Assiah is ruled by idiots, and is waiting for a ruler of unparalleled greatness like yours."

No exit near but the door behind him.

"Oh?" Satan replied without a trace of enthusiasm in his voice as he shifted his gaze towards Samael. "But I hear you've been meddling with Lucifer's plans?"

Samael replied with a choreographed shrug and a humorless chuckle, "What reason do I have to do so, Father?"

Without warning, the blue that once illuminated the room burst into a blinding white that robbed Samael of his sight for a few moments. Before his mind could grasp what had just happened, he felt the hard stone wall meet his back as it cracked with the bones in his body. Blood escaped his lungs and out of his mouth like spilling wine.

"Do you take me for a fool, _Samael_?"

Disoriented, he started to get up, prompting a wave of pain to hit him all at once. His eyes shut involuntarily and a groan escaped his throat as he backed himself against the cratered wall for support. He felt a sense of déjà vu as the situation registered in his mind, but realized that he was simply remembering the beatings he received from his Father hundreds of years ago. He wanted to laugh, but instead choked on his own blood and launched into a coughing fit instead.

Samael's ringing ears almost missed the sound of his Father's footsteps drawing near. He ventured a peek through the disheveled hair stuck on his sticky face—_blood or sweat_? Samael couldn't tell—but immediately closed his eyes when blue flames came to lick his mangled body.

"You are," Satan began, picking him up by his throat, "as pathetic as ever."

For once, they agreed on something.

"A demon king merely by name. A weakling. And you _dare_ challenge me, Lord of Gehenna?"

Despite being second oldest, he was considered the weakest. He despised the reminder.

"Give me a reason not to end your pitiful life right here, _right now_, you meddling son of mine."

_I despise being weak._

He could only groan.

_You were careless, Samael. _

He knew it would come to this.

_I despise you._

The grip tightened. His thoughts continued to swirl like masterless beasts in the face of hopelessness.

_I despise this world._

_Erase it._

_Like a blank slate._

His vision blurred and blacked as his consciousness began to slip.

_Ah, yes._

_Erase it, why don't we?_

* * *

**A/N: **So...I let this story sit untouched in a forgotten folder for two years, post an update out of nowhere, and leave with a cliffhanger? *nervous laughter*

_Some notes on Mephisto in this fic: He's more or less 400 years old at this point, he's still a weakling compared to his younger brothers (I have reasons), and he isn't part of True Cross, yet._

I got motivated to write this because Steins;Gate 0 is out but the PC port is nowhere in sight and I need to distract myself from the pain of waiting.

I'd like to thank SuperiorDimwit for the encouragement when I put out the first part (Prologue-ish) in 2014. I'm not sure if you'll read this after all these years, but thank you!


	3. Part 2: The World Knows How to Jest

**Part 2: The World Knows How to Jest**

* * *

"Ack…!"

He gripped his head with both hands as pain filled his skull, fearing it would split if he dared to let go. Speckles of light danced behind his eyelids even as he squeezed his eyes shut. He stumbled trying to regain his balance, before his legs gave way and sent him kneeling on the ground. Gasping, he opened one eye only to see blurs of gray that waved like the sea.

"O...you…wh...hap…ing…"

The sounds grew louder and closer until he realized they came from _someone._

"H-hey!"

The pain subsided to a discomfort. Feeling weight on both his shoulders, Samael opened his eyes to look. Still groggy from his ordeal, he tried hard to grasp a coherent thought.

_Hands?_

_Whose?_

"Like I said…"

He slowly turned to face the source, and only then noticed that _someone _was shaking him back and forth.

"…huh?" was the only word Samael could muster.

"'Huh?' Finally!"

Samael's green eyes met with a red pair. In front of him scowled an old man—_no, a teenage boy with graying hair?_—whose face bore a mixture of irritation, confusion, and worry. The demon blinked once, twice. The boy pulled his hands away with a sigh, saying, "Man, I thought you were a goner. What was that? You okay?"

The demon simply stared dumbfounded. _What did he say? _He thought it was Nihongo, a language he learned during his stay in Assiah (even though he has never set foot in the one country using it), but found the words too strange to understand.

"Pardon?" he tried in Japanese anyway.

The boy furrowed his brows and waved his hand in front of his face. Samael, whose irritation was rising, swatted it away.

"Great. Are you dumb or what? This what I get for my concern?" the boy said, rising up and crossing his arms. Remaining on his spot, Samael ignored him and frantically looked around for any signs of his deranged father.

No blue flames trying to torch him.

No murderous patriarch.

It was only then that he realized he was no longer in the throne room, but in what seemed like a rundown building.

Eyes growing wide, he abruptly stood and spun to make sure. The sudden movement made him dizzy, and the boy caught him as he stumbled. Without minding the other's complaints, he checked himself for any injuries.

None.

"What is this nonsense?!" he exclaimed in utter frustration in Gehennian tongue.

Was he not in Satan's throne room getting his death sentence served by his own father? _I am not in Gehenna. _Was he not battered so much his regeneration could not keep up? _I am not injured._

"Shit. This guy's crazy."

The remark interrupted his thoughts gone haywire. Facing the boy, who was scratching the back of his neck, Samael took his turn to shake the boy's shoulder.

"Where are we? What am _I _doing here?" he demanded.

Freeing himself from the demon, the boy spat, "Like hell I know what _you're_ doing here! We're in Japan, _idiot_."

In a mutter, he added, "…or what used to be, at least."

"What do you mean 'what used to be'?"

"Satan happened."

"SATAN?!"

"DAMN! You're annoying! Which cave have you been hiding in?! Satan appeared with his horde of demons. Destroyed Japan. People died. End of story."

Samael's legs lost their strength and he let himself sit on the dusty floor. Eyes shadowed, he laughed.

"Oh, Father," the prodigal son mumbled to himself. _Doing as you please on my beloved playground._

The teen, confused, shifted uncomfortably in front of the chuckling stranger. "Uhm. Hey. I know it's hard on you, too," he struggled to speak, "but, see, those floating black things are starting to gather now, yanno?"

Samael looked around as the boy did. Indeed, coal tars were beginning to flock around them. _Is Astaroth here as well? _The boy's hand stretched before him distracted him from thinking further.

"Come on, we're going to the safe zone," the boy said, and the unexpected gentleness in his features took Samael aback.

"I am known as Johann Faust," reaching out to take the offered hand, the demon replied. "Boy, what is your name?"

"You've a weird name." Grinning, the boy gripped his hand and pulled him up.

"Fujimoto Shirō."

* * *

"So…Fa…Fasuto?"

"Faust."

"Fausuto…"

The one addressed sighed. He had realized by now the linguistic barriers between them.

"Johann."

A grunt. "Okay, then, Yohan."

'Yohan' waited without taking his eyes off their surroundings. He noted how this country looked _very _different from those in the West where he had spent most of his time. Still, something felt _off, _which he could not put his finger on yet. Low-level demons swarmed the remains of civilization but they kept their distance from them, perhaps sensing his power if not his heritage. He scoffed at the thought of him having _power_, knowing full well how everyone in the Royal Family treated him.

_"A demon king merely by name."_

"Why were you in that building, Yohan?" Shiro interrupted.

Samael turned to the boy walking ahead of him. A holster and vials of liquid were buckled around the youth's waist. _Against demons? _The teen wore dirty clothes that did not fit what he knew of Japanese clothing. Pants and a long-sleeved shirt—in Assiah's western regions, one would probably call them undergarments. He winced upon realizing he was dressed in a similar—slightly better and cleaner—fashion, only with another layer of garment for his upper clothing.

"It would please me greatly if someone told me _why _as well."

"You talk old."

"Pardon?" Samael snapped. He knew he was, but his host's features—_this must be a Japanese human—_betrayed his age. "I merely thought this to be the manner in which you people spoke politely. In case you have not noticed, you have a crown of gray."

"Gray what? Yeah, but you sound…what's the word…_ancient_?"

There was something about this line of questioning that made Samael uncomfortable.

"Pray tell, what do you mean 'ancient'"?

"Uhm…Old…?"

_What a frustrating conversation partner._

"_Nein_!" the demon replied without noticing his slip into German.

"What, are you a foreigner now?"

"Yes—I mean, no—but that is beside the point. _What made you say that I am 'ancient'?"_

Shiro looked at him incredulously, "Oh, c'mmon. Not you. How you talk. That's like how old geezers in old novels talk. What are you, some _chuunibyou*?_"

Samael stopped on his tracks. Noticing, Shiro did the same.

Why did he not notice it sooner? Tall buildings of unfamiliar architecture—_that is not how Japanese towers looked like in my books—_remained amidst the rubble and destruction, and what looked like vehicles he had never seen before lay wasted on the streets.

"Fujimoto-kun," the demon began in a low voice without looking at the name's owner, "_what year is it_?"

Shiro answered with a frown, and Samael's breath got caught in his chest.

_The world does know how to jest. _

The demon could not help but laugh.

_This is…_

The boy could only stare in confusion.

_…a hundred years in the future._

* * *

**A/N: **

**Chuunibyou (Middle School 2nd Year Syndrome). **describes someone with delusional behavior; e.g., thinking/acting like they have superpowers.

**Shiro's hair color.** I just assumed he had premature gray hair lol.

SuperiorDimwit: Yep, you guessed right. The King of Time's first time travel experience hehe

Yoko-Zuki10: I pledge loyalty to the ShiroxMephy legion.

Thanks to SuperiorDimwit and Yoko-Zuki10 for the reviews! They are very much appreciated!


	4. Part 3: Nebel des Krieges

**Clarifications:**

Never mix time travel and the King of Time without paying attention to the timeline (haha...ha...ugh). In a previous A/N, I said that Mephisto's more or less 100 years in the story; that's 400, which in terms of a demon's lifespan would be like their teenage years. He met Faust in the 16th century, then he leapt from his 'present' in the 19th century (cc 1850s-1870s) and landed in the 20th century (1970s).

Just a bit of warning (I'm putting this in the _Prologue_, too): he might be a bit OOC in the first few parts: (1) He's difficult to write to begin with (I apologize in advance should I get sloppy); part of his charm as a character in the original series is that you can't tell what's going on in his mind, so revealing some of that presents the risk of missing the mark or losing some of that charm. (2) He's still confused by recent events haha. (3) Nature vs nurture; his experiences will also shape who he becomes. (4) The plot calls for him to be a bit _different_ from what we know, at least until we get past "that point".

* * *

**Part 3: _Nebel des Krieges/Fog of War_**

* * *

Thrust someone into an obscure game nearing its end to substitute a player of unknown standing, and they would ask, among many things: what are the rules? What were the previous moves? The most important question for a gambler being—

_What are the stakes?_

The next hour or so was uneventful, and in those moments, uncertainty was the only certainty. During the pauses punctuating the two traveler's back and forth of questions, Samael's mind worked its gears and fed itself everything that met his senses, carefully laying each piece to solve this world's puzzle. That the demon king was a hell raiser complicated the retro chess problem; black or white, 'he' could have been playing either or both sides of this world's board. And how could one be sure the game was chess to begin with?

For now, Samael decided, he would follow this boy to see where things went in the past and would go in the future.

"Fujimoto-san, what was happening before you approached me?"

"Looking dumb."

Dismissing his company's offended look, Shirō explained his side of the story. He found Samael while scavenging for supplies and looking for other survivors inside the abandoned building. He observed him for a few minutes as he tried to decide whether or not it was worth interrupting the stranger muttering words to himself. Samael had a dark look on his face ("You looked like a lost child whose favorite toy got taken away by some bullies."), and the boy rushed to him only because his face inexplicably twisted into pain and agony, hands clutching his head.

"Out of the goodness of my heart," Shirō said mockingly, "I hurried to this stranger to help, only to find out he's a complete nutcase."

Fujimoto Shirō, the demon king concluded, was a rude plebeian brat in need of disciplinary training.

Thinking back to Shirō's tale, however, Samael found teleportation inadequate in explaining his situation. After all, from Shirō's perspective, this "sorry stranger too stupid to function" had been _there _and had neither left nor magically appeared. For whatever reason, he could not remember muttering to himself and looking lost in the middle of a trashed room—_what would have driven 'me' to act in that manner?—_so he considered the possibility of only his consciousness travelling to this 'reality.' Teleportation, as the demon did it, would not instantly mend a broken body, and would merely move it through space.

Besides, even though teleportation was among his abilities as King of Space (at this, his thoughts wandered to his fight with Satan, and he had to admit how truly terrifying his father was to be able to subdue him before he could think of teleporting), he needed more than that to end up in the future.

_Ergo, time…?_

An inexplicable yet strangely familiar sensation rippled through his body, the feeling passing quickly but lingering like the cold of a ghostly touch. The demon stopped and blinked, and for a fleeting moment he saw a multitude of glowing threads—gone too quickly for him to ascertain—behind his closed eyelids.

"Focus," Shirō announced in a voice muffled by a plaid cloth that was now masking half of his face. Quickly glancing at Samael, he handed him a handkerchief. "Miasma's thicker here."

Shirō proceeded vigilantly, hand gripping a metallic weapon on his waist, as they entered a dimly lit alley. Overpowering the smell of garbage, the stench of rotting flesh filled the air, signalling the presence of a demon kin to the King of Rot. The boy stopped, drew the gun, and trailed it in front of him.

From behind a trash bin, a dog-type ghoul leapt towards the duo. Samael stood on guard, but found no need to act as Shirō shot at the rotting canine with skilled precision, vaporizing the whimpering offender with blessed bullets. Uncorking a vial of clear liquid with his mouth, Shirō turned his attention to the pair of smaller ghouls that emerged from their left, and splashed the bottle's contents to the growling abominations before they could sink their bared fangs onto his forearm. Their flesh burned and convulsed before their demons fled to Gehenna in a trail of black smoke. _Holy water._

"Impressive, Fujimoto-san," Samael commented in genuine surprise he did not bother to hide. In the 'past,' most grown men cowered at the mere sight of demons, and while that had always been a subject of wonder for the demon—as anything and everything in Assiah was—seeing this new reaction to an old action was like the tongue discovering a previously undetected layer of flavor among well-acquainted tastes.

Shirō looked at him with an expression that read 'I know.' "I thought a dumbass like you would be more frightened by these demons."

"Ah~ I do not appreciate you underestimating me so, Fujimoto-san." The demon added a close mimicry of a human smile for good measure.

The teen only turned away with a snort and continued to walk forward.

Curiosity piqued, Samael asked, "How did you learn such skill in exorcism?"

"Necessity."

They made it out of the alley and into a deserted street—'deserted,' because people were nowhere to be seen, as if they had all been spirited away. Miasma hung in the atmosphere and the wind carried the scent of Gehenna—burning coal, rotting flesh, and a dissonant smell of sweetness only demons would appreciate. Since the sun was high up, not many demons milled around save for a persistent swarm of coal tars. Demon activity seemed to be concentrated somewhere else in the far distance where the skies wore a deep shade of gray and the hills flared bright blue. From the highest hill's center, thick black masses either oozed like pus or rose like smoke, breaking apart into smaller chunks before spreading in every direction. It could have been a volcano spouting lava to the fickle human mind, but the knowledge of demons had made it a tad less ignorant to dream up such wishful lie. The truth was that they could only be demons, and they populated the earth without restraint through the gigantic Gehenna Gate on the hill.

"I grew up with priests, you see, so they know these exorcism stuff and taught me some," Shirō continued, lighting himself a cigarette that made Samael's face scrunch up in disgust. "But nothing prepared us for the Devil himself two weeks ago. Heck, I didn't even believe they existed until last year or something."

_So it began two weeks ago._

"Then, I assume you are part of a resistance against Satan?"

"Resistance? Can't even call it that. We're just basically gathering survivors and fending for our lives. Government fell apart right away. Those useless pigs were the first to scamper to save their asses."

"Are there not many of you who know how to exorcise demons?"

"Many already died. Not that there were a lot to begin with. And we're obviously no match."

Samael frowned. No human had enough power to overcome Satan, but from his decades in Assiah, he knew humans compensated for their weakness by banding together.

"Surely, there must be an organization specializing in anti-demon warfare?"

Shirō shrugged. "None that I know of. Maybe the priests, but they didn't seem 'specialized,' really."

They arrived at a building no better than the rest they had seen along the way. Samael felt a weak anti-demon barrier surrounding the place, but passed through without difficulty since it could only ward off mid-level demons at best. _Good work, anyway. _After a quick survey of their surroundings, Shirō signaled for them to enter through a door by its side. He held out his lighter, its minuscule flame offering some visibility (at least to the human), as they made their way to the basement.

Stopping in front of two men who stood guard to a door, Shirō nodded in greeting. The guards looked at Samael from head to toe, and the demon kept a straight face as he returned the gaze. He silently thanked his host's hair for being long enough to conceal his slightly pointed ears. One of them nodded, and the other opened the door for the newcomers to enter. Nobody saw the amused smirk on Samael's face.

The faint smell of candles wafted through the air as they exhausted themselves to illuminate the space. Inside the room, not more than fifty people huddled together in small groups. A mother desperately tried to console a crying child, and silent sobs mixed with hushed speech. Moans of the sick came from a far corner where a petite woman in a kimono—_that, I recognize—_and two younger women attended them. The sound of prayers rose above the noise as clergy men and women tried their best to keep hope afloat. Two men tended to the fire burning inside a metal drum at the center of the room.

It was a pitiful sight, and Samael would be lying if he said he did not enjoy it one bit.

A young girl (perhaps not even ten years old) clad in kimono, her brown hair tied in a practical bun, approached the two.

"Found anything good, Fujimoto-nii?" the girl asked. She eyed Samael curiously, and the demon said hello in return.

"Nah. Just this guy, Johann," Shirō pointed at Samael. "And I'm not even sure if he's any good at all."

"Do you have nothing else but insults for me, Fujimoto-san?" Samael retorted.

The girl laughed and clapped Samael's shoulder. She was too busy laughing to see him flinch in disapproval. "You're a funny guy!" Which part the human found funny eluded the demon.

Taking three slices of bread from the rations, she motioned for them to sit on the floor and eat. She distributed the food, one for each of them, and began to eat her share after saying grace with Shirō. Samael wanted to see if bread of the future differed from those of the past, so he took a bite only to be disappointed by how stale this particular sample had become. He craved for something sweet to wash the bread's sandy residue away, but resisted the urge to conjure anything.

Two seconds later, though, he reached into his empty shirt pocket and pulled out three colorfully wrapped candies.

"Care for some sweets?" he offered, guessing it polite to do so. The girl beamed and took one faster than she can say "Thanks!" The other refused, and Samael was more than happy to eat the rejected candy.

"This is Moriyama Akemi," Shirō said. "She does some herbal medicine stuff with her mother over there."

"Sheems like ye two're 'lready getting 'long well," Akemi commented, speech slightly slurring as she pushed the candy around inside her mouth.

"That'll happen only after your boobs have grown large enough to threaten me with suffocation, Akemi."

Samael rolled his eyes, "Your conclusion is far from reality, Moriyama-san."

"Shiro-nii, you pervert," Akemi said with a pout that disappeared as quickly as it had come. "But WOAH, Han-chan, you really talk like my great granny!"

"'Han-chan'…?"

"Show some respect. He's an old geezer in the body of a twenty-something."

Ignoring the two—_Do not waste your energy on teleporting insolent children to the bottom of the sea—_Samael took in his surroundings once again. Only one door to grant passage to and from the rest of the world. Just like Satan's throne room. He brushed the thought away.

_Remember to teleport next time._

"How long have you been using this building?" he mused.

"Hmm…" Akemi hummed while crushing the hard candy between her teeth. "Maybe since last week."

"It surprises me that you have lasted this long without the demons finding you."

The girl praised the clergy for setting up the barrier. She babbled about how people took turns praying and chanting scriptures, how their numbers grew as they gathered survivors, and how her mother healed those who came in sick or injured. Halfway through the girl's ramblings, an old tale from a distant kingdom in eastern Assiah retold itself in the demon's mind:

Once upon a time, there was a frog that lived at the bottom of a well. Day by day, it watched as the blue circle that hovered above the damp world changed color to orange, pink, black, and back to blue again. As it was watching the circle like it had always done, the frog saw a round figure blotting the view like a splotch of ink on paper. It spoke of a water world beyond the well—'sea,' it was called—but the frog could not believe there would be anything greater than the comfort of its well.

_How long will we last in our own little wells?_

"What do you plan to do about the demons?" Samael asked, the primal urge to tear down and sneer at its prey bubbling within him and encouraged by the shocked silence he received in response. If not for centuries spent studying humans, he would not have an approximate look of innocent curiosity on his face.

Akemi's mouth gaped to form words that never came. The demon king wondered if Shirō had an answer, but the presence of another demon robbed him of the leisure of waiting.

Standing up, Samael turned around, trying to pinpoint its location. Judging by the aura, a high-level demon.

"A demon?!" Shirō asked seconds after. The little girl looked at them with concern.

A commotion could be heard just outside. The door flung open, and two men stumbled inside, one of them supporting the other who seemed to be in pain.

"S-Someone! Help!" the man acting as clutches called out. The older Moriyama answered from the far end of the room. Two nuns who served as her assistants rushed to where the newcomers were.

The younger Moriyama stepped forward, "Ah, Terufusa-nii—"

"Do not move!" Samael flung his arm to stop the girl at the same instant someone began to chuckle. Everyone looked around to find the source.

"What's going on?" Akemi asked in a trembling voice.

_That is not a high-level demon._

Suddenly, the young man called Terufusa was hurled towards the women, who were supposed to aid him, in a force and speed that smashed all three of them against the wall like swatted insects.

A brief moment of confusion descended upon the room, broken quickly by the blood-curdling laugh that emanated from mouth of the man who had carried Terufusa moments ago. Coal tars swarmed his figure like flies drawn to a carcass.

Samael scowled, "That is the King of Rot, _Astaroth_."

* * *

**Notes:**

**_Nebel des Krieges_**** (Fog of War).** The uncertainty that commanders often face during war due to lack of communication and information (not only about the enemy but also about their own units)

**Retro chess problem.** A type of chess problem in which one must figure out the previous moves that made the current arrangement possible.

**Moriyama Akemi.** Shiemi's mother is unnamed so I'm gonna call her Akemi because it rhymes with Shiemi (also, Akemi Homura lol).

In one of Katō-sensei's interviews, she said that Mephisto has spent enough time in Assiah to know human mannerisms and act very human-like (versus Amaimon who lacks experience), so I tried to show some of his efforts to copy them while he's still relatively inexperienced.

When I went back to this fic after two years, I wondered why I called it "parts" instead of "chapters." Just remembered that it's because this is not supposed to be a chaptered novel but a short story uploaded part by part (Me to self: Oh so _that's _why you were writing like that...).

I'm pretty much using this fic to experiment with writing styles lol. Feel free to review and help me improve my writing since I'm still a novice. u w u )


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